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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935749">make me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession'>acomplicatedprofession</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arguing, Choking, Explicit Language, F/M, Hand &amp; Finger Kink, Handcuffs, M/M, Mild Smut, Oops, Vaginal Fingering, i think</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:00:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24935749</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/acomplicatedprofession/pseuds/acomplicatedprofession</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop. Talking.”</p><p>You jut your chin out, arms crossed as you shift underneath the weight of his stare, not thinking before the words leave you. “Make me.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>make me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What the fuck, Mando?” You push at the beskar covering his chest, indignant as the ship door closes. It’s quiet save for the hum of the Crest’s emergency controls, just light enough to make out the reflection of his armor. “No note, no comm saying ‘oh by the way I’m going to leave for almost a month and not contact you the entire time?’ You’re so fucking infuriating!”</p><p>His chest heaves as he sighs, deep and ragged. “Stop talking.”</p><p>“Stop talking?” you scoff, incredulous. “Are you serious? You were gone for weeks!”</p><p>Who the fuck does he think he is? That he can just disappear for weeks on end, leaving you and the kid stranded on the ship in the middle of buttfuck nowhere? Stars, you wanted to slap him. You would, if he wasn’t covered in literal metal.  You knew it was his job (it was yours, too for Maker’s sake), but he didn’t have to be so mind-numbingly cryptic all the time. The whole <em> mysterious bounty hunter with a troubled past </em>thing was starting to get old.</p><p>You don’t let up as the Mandalorian walks through the hangar, trailing behind with a barrage of questions. You know you should probably leave him be - to rest or shower or whatever he did when you weren’t around to watch - but you’re pissed, exhausted and on-edge because the kid never seemed to fucking sleep. Critical thinking isn’t your friend right now, which is probably why you don’t notice the way his shoulders tense up, curled like the gloved fists beside his legs.</p><p>“And what was that whole thing before you left? About not wanting to hurt me?” you demand, colliding with a caped back when he pauses in his steps. A soft groan escapes you before he turns, the face of his visor cold and sharp. The Mandalorian says your name and it’s low, baritone and rumbling a warning that you pretend not to hear. “I put up with so much of your shit,” you volley back. “I never ask you about anything, about what you do or what you’ve seen or where you go. The least you could do is act like you care.”</p><p>He calls your name again.</p><p>“<em>What? </em>” you seethe, too preoccupied to notice the way he takes a few steps forward. Your feet mirror his until your back is almost to the wall, the cold sheeting raising goosebumps on your neck. </p><p>“Stop. Talking.”</p><p>You jut your chin out, arms crossed as you shift underneath the weight of his stare, not thinking before the words leave you. “Make me.”</p><p>He grabs your arms before you can blink, soft leather pressing into the skin just hard enough to draw out a gasp from the notch in your throat. You follow easy, pliable as you let him turn you until your cheek cuts into the metal seam of the ship and iciness is pressed against your sternum. </p><p>Blood rushes to your face, snaking up and down the inner flesh of your arms until it settles in your thighs, flushing an aching beat that’s still angry but morphing into something much more dangerous. His cuisse rises between your legs and you can feel his vambrace dig into the soft flesh of your hip. You’re still pissed. You’re still pissed. You’re still...</p><p>You try to swallow but it doesn’t work, only serving to exacerbate the sudden dryness coating your mouth.  “What are you-”</p><p>“Shut up,” he rasps as his hands travel farther down, rough and impatient. “Just shut the fuck up.” You whip your head around at this, mouth opening with a retort before he quiets you, fingers pushing past your lips until they open for him, instinctive and wrapping warm when he presses down on your tongue. When did he take his gloves off?</p><p>He tastes like smoke - like leftover blaster fire and polishing oil and a little like salt - and your eyes widen. “You’re always talking,” the Mandalorian growls into your ear, the lip of his visor brushing across the juncture of your neck. “Always fuckin’ talking. Do you know the kind of shit I just went through?” he asks.</p><p>You shake your head, saliva pooling along your teeth and shining glossy on your mouth as his hand comes out to grip your cheeks, puckering your lips. “A month of tracking some bounty and then I lose him,” the Mandalorian rasps, his other palm scraping your stomach underneath the thin fabric of your tunic. “I lose him and then I have come back here, have to deal with you<em>.</em>” The fingers not gripping your jaw travel farther down and you whimper. “You’re such a fuckin’ tease,”</p><p>“M’not,” you protest, keening a little. You hate the way he can do this, just melt all your vitriol and bitterness so long as he’s close enough to touch. It intoxicates you, heady and undulating warmth until you bloom, and suddenly you can’t remember what you were so upset about. Something about him being away, being gone, but he’s here now so it’s okay. “M’not,” you repeat, the words thick.</p><p>His voice is gruff. You like hearing it. “Yes, you are. You’re a tease and you know it.”</p><p>The Mandalorian’s hands fall away from you completely and you whine, a quiet, rising sound that dips low on the last second before you reach for him, a half-hearted attempt to bring him nearer even though you know he’s going to do whatever he likes, impervious to your growing desperation.</p><p>No surprise colors your mind when your wrists are pulled behind you, petaled above the dip of your back and encased in metal. The joints of your shoulders roll on their tendons, stretching out until your chest is pushed further forward against the wall. Your breathing comes out labored, the leftover shock of seeing him come back and the leftover anger caused by it still coursing adrenaline in your body.</p><p>It’s a little game you play. This push and pull. This maddening cat and mouse that really has no mouse at all because you both know he only does this because you allow it. You let him take you, envelop you until you’re smothered, an overflow of flesh and blood and aching. </p><p>“You drive me crazy,” he mumbles, voice dark through his vocoder as his touch returns, skimming as it slides down your shoulders, over your ribs and the sides of your thighs until a hand goes below your waistband and rests there, still against the pulsing heat. The other one stays at the nape of your neck, wrapping light around the column of open skin.</p><p>You bite your lip, the flesh pillowing beneath your teeth. The words are only just audible through your exhale when he squeezes your throat, your tone teasing. "<em>Good.</em>"</p><p>He squeezes again and you sputter. “Never can keep that fuckin’ mouth shut, can you?” he asks, not waiting for you to answer before his hand starts to move. He’s slow about it, pressing and soft the way he knows you like until you’re gasping, squirming and trying to goad him into moving quicker.</p><p>It doesn’t work - only serves to bring an amused sort of groan from behind you as he works you, seems to pry your very soul open so you lay split open and tender, a swollen fruit from somewhere off-planet and beautiful, crushed into a mist that he can dissolve and drink up until you inundate the very bones of his body.</p><p>Your eyes are weighed down, heavy, half-lidded things rendered as useless as your mind because you can’t see, can’t think or move or do anything other than say <em> more </em>and hope he listens. He does.</p><p>You think you scream but aren’t sure, lungs empty of everything except for the last ragged noise that leaves you when you tighten - a white-hot feeling bursting you, burning you from the inside and wringing out any semblance of your coherency. You fall forward, knocking weak-kneed until he catches you by the waist and holds you there, whispering promises to never leave and apologies for ever doing it.</p><p>You try to shift a little, up and away to try and catch your breath before your vision spots again, but he just pulls you closer, a tight arm wrapping around your side. “You’re not going anywhere.”</p><p>
  <em> Fuck. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i never wanna look at this again 🤡🤡 ne wayz hope u liked</p></blockquote></div></div>
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